And reach over and say your drunk
by PeachxCream
Summary: When your best friend gets drunk and starts puking on your frayed jeans which you loved so much, what do you do? You sit and watch, just like Bunshichi Tawara did. For all you sickos, it's ShinxBunshichi; DON'T LIKE? DON'T READ!


"_And reach over and say your drunk"_

_By: Peach xoxoxo_

_Author's Note: Yuppers, just thought I'd get this outta my system: I've been having a REAL craving for ShinxBunshichi, but I had yet to satisfy it; it's 8:22 p.m where I'm at, and my hair is soaking wet from a shower (something you didn't really need to know, but I just thought I'd throw in there), and I am ready to get this over with. XD I know it's odd for my first story, but I still hope you like it!_

_Oh, and btw- I do not own Tenjho Tenge, or Shin Natsume and Bunshichi Tawara; if I did, lord knows there'd be "parties my place". XDD_

_On w/ the story!_

_((Please excuse stupid spelling errors; I was in a hurry to make it sound as sensible as possible))_

_Word Count: 2,608_

When your best friend gets drunk and starts puking on your frayed jeans which you loved so much, what do you do?

You sit and watch, just like Bunshichi Tawara did.

His friend was an idiot, through and through, and he wasn't about to stretch it; from his bizarre antics, to that "you'll-never-guess-what's-on-my-mind", aloof attitude, Shin Natsume was the epitome of trouble. A bad-boy image to boot, the girls in the schools either feared or fawned over him, and the guys were just itching to challenge him.

Bunshichi couldn't even hold a candle to all the dark, deep secrets he knew about Shin.

But one thing he DID know was that his long-time friend had a notoriously low alcohol tolerance.

The trail of vomit that attached itself to Bunshichi's pant-leg was beyond gross, a dazed, half-lidded look adorned Shin's normally passive face. His friend's lively eyes were bleak, empty, as if he was thinking despite his hunched-over state. His upper-body was nearly entirely knelt upon Bunshichi's knee, which lay flat along the concrete floor of the slum's deepest alley-way, just 2 miles south of their school. Shin had brought along a brown-bag-dressed bottle, which was obviously alcohol, and decided it would be fun to "waste their troubles away" behind the dumpster in the slum's little-known alley-way, a place; believe it or not, the two teenagers grew up in.

Shin's stomach audibly lurched, and he groaned, a long, pained groan that stretched on in the silent-covered night. Bunshichi nonchalantly looked towards the heavens, the sky painted a rich, maroon colour reflecting the river of orange which trailed towards the setting sun. Stars were becoming visible, and Bunshichi had the slightest irking that somewhere, God was laughing at him; for the unfortunate, pitiful situation he was in.

Shin wiped his mouth along the hem of his T-shirt, his long, un-cut bangs spilling over his shoulders in continuous waterfalls of lavender. Bunshichi found himself staring at his friends hair, attempting to remember the last time he'd seen it any shorter than his shoulders. Never once, had Shin ever had short hair. His friend looked up to face him, their blank gazes meeting for a long while, stretching on for what seemed like eternity, before Shin finally made a move to get up, his knees visibly quaking, before collapsing under him, letting him fall to the ground once more.

"_A moth without it's wings….is a moth, only in name."_

Bunshichi remembers these words, which his friend had uttered so many years ago.

They'd barely reached middle school, when his friend began to become more….cynical; and critical of the life that lived on around him. Shin's view of the world had slowly morphed into something Bunshichi's 12-year old mind….was…not nearly ready to comprehend.

And now, he looks down on his friend, who's crippled body, and abandoned crutches lay strewn on the concrete floor, and Shin's shoulders began to shake….only slightly, before silent whispers of sobs could be heard echoing in the enclosing darkness.

Bunshichi found himself sighing, his hands stuffed in his pockets, acting as indifferent and casual as he always was. Shin's hair now completely covered his face, the bright, almost neon shade of purple hurting Bunshichi's eyes.

"Get up.", he barked, now making a move to bend down near his friend, who's tears stained the forgotten alley.

"…….it's the god-damned alcohol, you idiot. You shouldn't have had so much….", Bunshichi started, finding his hand making it's way soothingly along the upper bicep of Shin's arm. He noticed his friend visibly stiffen, before looking up to meet his liquid gaze with Bunshichi's stone-cold one.

"Get up."

Shin blinked back the tears that threatened to continue their journey down his placid cheek, before feeling the warmth of Bunshichi's hand leave his arm, his own hand making it's way to the now cold area. What had he expected, he wondered, for Bunshichi to do? Wipe his tears away and console him. The notion that he was even crying was still a shock to him, more than a depressing matter; he didn't really know what he was crying ABOUT, persay. His knees were still weak, and his vision began to blur, meshing dark with light, and as the street-lights began to strike up one by one on the abandoned avenue, Shin found his eyes nearly failing him in the faded darkness. The film-noir scenary surrounding him all seemed so surreal, and he found himself falling into the grip of two strong, supporting arms.

Bunshichi's grip was tight under his friends fore-arms, but not tight enough. He balanced his friend along his chest, before rolling him over so he could snake his right arm over his left shoulder. The two made quite a scene, Bunshichi crouched over in order to support Shin as the two began to walk/limp towards Bunshichi's apartment, just around the corner of the street avenue. Bunshichi sighed, the whole predicament seeming worthless and idiotic, and just a hell of a lot of work, yet somehow, looking down at his friend's nearly unconscious form, he found himself…

…thank God for all the sick pranks he pulled on him.

It wasn't much, he knew, but Bunshichi Tawara's apartment would do just fine for the two of them.

A small, pool-room fridge/cooler to the left, a microwave to the right ,and pots, pans, plates, and other kitchen utensils framing the minute, stained sink that over-looked the mediocre view from Bunshichi's apartment to the street below. He'd witnessed a murder, 2 kid-nappings, and a bank robbery from that kitchen window, yet somehow, the guilt of it all seemed to drown out in the pity Bunshichi sometimes caught himself feeling FOR himself. The countless cigarette butts that overflowed in the dozens of ashtrays that surrounded the 1-room apartment created an odor so potent, second-hand didn't even half describe it. Soda cans, empty take-out boxes, underwear, blankets, and other random and useless objects were strewn across the floor, all leading to a half-open door draped in worn clothing that revealed a folded up futon placed some-what haphazardly in the corner of the cramped bedroom.

This was Bunshichi's room, where he spent approximately 10-14 hours of his weekends, yet only about 3-hours of his weekdays. He wouldn't call his schedule busy, rather, filled with tedious "jobs" he needed to take care of, and on several of them, he worked with Shin, in their previous club, "KATANA", and their new club, the "JYUUKEN CLUB".

The pain increased in his shoulders from supporting his friend all the way up the iron-wrought stairs that lead to the entrance to his apartment. He managed to carefully lay Shin down near the jammed closet door, bending over to open the futon, mentally attempting to measure how big the mattress was. It didn't help when he'd opened to find a tag along the side of the futon, reading "twin size". Right; he'd forgotten. He was living alone.

It wasn't like he'd shared his bed with anyone before anyways.

He scratched his head, unconsciously stretching, before making the seemingly long trek across the room to drag his friend over to the futon, laying Shin as comfortably as he could along the mattress, tucking a pillow neatly under his head. It was only then, did the searing heat in the room finally begin to settle under Bunshichi's white Tee-shirt, forcing him to remove his traditional denim vest, and then his T-shirt, standing shirtless in his bedroom doorway, praying to the upper forces that there was an extra futon around this apartment somewhere.

Nothing. He'd lived alone for as long as he could remember; and had never once thought a situation as absurd as THIS one would come up.

He could ask the landlady just below his room for an extra futon; he found himself making his way towards his apartment door, only to stop and remember that the landlady was on vacation in China for the next month. No one else lived within walking distance that he could put on his shirt and ask for a futon. They'd probably make some crude jokes about him finally getting a girlfriend. If only they knew….

He turned to look at his friend, noting the soft rise and fall of Shin's chest, the almost visible, audible breathing that, in the desperate silence of that apartment, seemed so…

….appealing…

The legs that carried him across his messy bedroom floor were disobeying him completely, yet somehow, Bunshichi didn't want them to stop. He knelt, supporting his upper body completely, hovering literally inches away from Shin's face. The pale glow of his friend's skin was irresistibly alluring, and he couldn't help but wish that Shin was a girl. He'd secretly thought that way for along while, admiring the subtle things about Shin that seemed…abnormal, for someone as masculine as him. Between the long hair, the pale eye-lashes, the fine eyebrows, high cheekbones, and radiant skin, Bunshichi sometimes wondered how bad it would be to…

…to kiss….a friend like that. A friend that unconsciously beautiful.

And then he'd slap himself repeatedly, and turn to hunt down the countless porn magazines that were seemingly hidden in random places across his apartment.

He knew he couldn't feel that way for his friend. He'd felt that painful guilt, that disgust, and that wretching feeling just before you actually vomit; he knew it was disgust at his feelings that weren't displayed towards his friend, the guilt for thinking like that, for somehow disobeying someone, though he wasn't quite sure who. And then he'd feel that bottomless sadness; that feeling that he was lying to himself.

Because he was.

And those subtle hints of beauty he found in Shin, he secretly wished Shin would find in him. That tough-guy affection they shared, was like no other, because they were an inseparable duo; a team of two, a being of one. They were close to kin, yet far in history. They weren't quite brothers, but they were more than friends, and there were days where Bunshichi thought his idiot-of-a-friend understood; there were days were he felt it all come together…

…only to fall apart seconds later.

His friends labored breathing and visible sweating awoke him from his reminiscing of times long gone, pulling him violently back to the real world. Without even registering what he was doing, he began to tug off his friend's loose T-shirt, finding the zipper for Shin's blue jeans quite easily. His biker shoes had come off almost instantly; Shin wasn't known for tying laces very tight; that left Shin in only his underwear, a simple electric blue speedo….

…..a speedo….

Somehow, Bunshichi found himself thinking in terms of math formulas, quickly stopping himself before feeling the inevitable rush of blood directly to and out of his nose. A red trail began to seep down along his mouth ,and the metallic taste was immediately recognizable; he was having a nosebleed.

That's what Shin did to him sometimes.

This was no innocent beauty, he thought carefully, standing up abruptly and almost hitting his head on the single, dangling light-bulb from his ceiling; no, no, this was sex on a stick, he thought frantically, looking down at the slightly parting lips, the gentle, wispy locks of lavender hair framing that perfect body, those toned muscles that glistened from newly formed sweat in the afterglow of the moon. Something was happening, Bunshichi knew, and some magical pheromone was working exactly correct tonight, because, inevitably, the temperature seemed to increase one-hundred fold.

Shin's eyes were still peacefully shut. He was sleeping, Bunshichi realized.

He found his hands gliding along Shin's perfectly muscled chest, making their way along his hairless stomach, finding the unconscious twitch of Shin's abdomen to be quite adorable. Mental slap. His palm rested there, relishing in the feel of Shin's body at work below him, his living, breathing form physically there beneath him. Mental slap. And just as his hand began to snake underneath the spandex-material of his underwear.

The maroon eyes snapped open.

Bunshichi's hand was frozen dumbly. His entire body began to heat up, starting at the very finger-tips that touched Shin's sweat-soaked skin. His friend's eyes were wide-awake, fooling anyone that he was ever asleep to begin with.

A silence stretched on for several seconds, lasting decades in the minds of both men, before it was broken by the pale, lavender-haired one.

"Why?", was all he'd said.

It was all he could get out, before Bunshichi's hesitant nose…bumped ways with Shin's straight, angled one. He could almost taste Shin's spearmint breath mingling with his, the not-so-subtle hint of alcohol fresh and potent on Shin's parted lips. Bunshichi was almost shocked to find his friend not making any moves to stop him, rather, finding Shin's head angling to the side, allowing Bunshichi more access to the deep, angular caverns of his neck, and collar-bone.

Shin was certainly gifted, Bunshichi thought definitely, finding the taste of his friend's warm flesh irrevocably delicious, now completely surrendering to the guilty pleasure that was Shin. The pale-haired man's eyes rolled into the back of his skull, and his moan echoed throughout Bunshichi's microscopic bedroom; he'd completely succumbed to this feeling, one that he never intended of letting anyone have the pleasure of experiencing. He was selfish, greedy, and would do anything to get Shin to just make that noise on more time.

The labored breathing from Shin beneath increased in tempo, and the sweat production on both Bunshichi's bare chest, and Shin's nearly naked body creating more friction, along with an audible sound of two bodies meshing together. The paranoia increased, and Shin saw the room spinning rapidly behind Bunshichi's bare shoulders; he latched onto them protectively, leaning fully into his friend, before collapsing exhaustedly on the futon beneath him, the sheets now sticking to his sweat-soaked back. His underwear had slipped below his hips, as Bunshichi hooked his thumbs just along the ridge of Shin's hip, eliciting a moan from the man beneath him. This was the moment he knew he'd live for, he thought, yet; somehow felt it was missing something….

Bunshichi's charm had at last, made it's appearance;

He leaned down, until his lips were just an aching 1/4th of a centimeter away from Shin's inner-ear, whispering along the ridge of his earlobe….

"…you're drunk."

He pulled his head back to look down at the dazed, yet slightly surprised look Shin had on, before closing the space between them, sealing it with a searing, mid-summer kiss, one that stole out any cool air left in the room, exchanging it for hot tension, and rising circumstances. The hair that Bunshichi loved so much framed the face he loved even more, and the vomit-stained jeans that he used to love so much were completely forgotten as they were strewn along the floor of the apartment bedroom.


End file.
